


Survival

by readtolive



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Caretaking, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, ohmygodsomuchangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 07:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12054585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readtolive/pseuds/readtolive
Summary: Derek and Stiles loving each other, basically. Truly, madly, deeply.





	Survival

Derek pushes through the building’s front door with some difficulty, his both arms clasped around two large shopping bags. They’re filled to the brim and Derek balances them carefully before they split open and everything ends up on the building’s filthy floor.

It’s dark inside, but he doesn’t bother with the lights; he sees the decrepit hallways well enough without it. He swiftly climbs the two flights of stairs to Stiles’ apartment and opens the door with his elbow and butt.

It’s dark inside, too. Stiles stands like a wax figure next to the wall and he doesn’t move when Derek comes in.

Derek sighs. Stiles is exhausting him, both mentally and physically. But, it is what it is. Derek is scared and worried about him, so he doesn’t say anything.

“Do you want me to turn on the light?”

Stiles finally moves a little. “If you want.”

Derek turns on the lamp in the sitting area and the kitchen nook lights. “I got you some milk, eggs and Cheerios… and there’s a jar of jam and some peanut butter, your favorite kind."

Stiles stares at him like he's listing the ways he wants to harm him.

"I got some vegetables and chicken, too. I thought, I can – I can make something, maybe. Would you like that?” Derek looks at Stiles, carefully waiting for his reaction. He never knows how Stiles will react these days.

“No. No. I’ll manage. Thank you.” Stiles pushes off the wall, cradling his limp left hand with his right one. “I’ll use the food processor.”

Derek doesn’t say anything.

He hates that Stiles refuses to wear a sling, and that he refuses to see a doctor. Derek doesn’t understand why he won’t do anything about his injured hand.

He realizes he’s still holding the groceries. Silently, he enters Stiles’ tiny kitchen and starts putting them away.

When he’s finished, he comes closer to Stiles and cradles his face in his hands. His fingers caress both sides, the smooth one and the one with a huge scar stretching across his cheek. It’s thin, but long and jagged.

Stiles flinches away. “Don’t.”

But Derek doesn’t let him escape. He manages to hug him and press a soft kiss on Stiles’ cheek and only then lets him go.

“See you tomorrow.”

Without waiting for Stiles’ usual ‘whatever’ dismissal of him, Derek leaves. He knows he’ll come tomorrow again and do whatever he can, whatever needs to be done about Stiles, no matter how much Stiles tries to chase him away and refuses to cooperate.

~~~~~

It’s been a year, a whole year of Derek trying. He couldn’t get Stiles to open the door for him in the beginning. Now, he never even locks it because he sees no point.

The whole year has been just an endless loop of Derek trying to get Stiles to go out, eat, shower, do something, do anything. Every book he's brought, every DVD he's surreptitiously left on Stiles’ desk got tossed into the trash, or, on particularly bad days, through the window.

“What? What is there to see, to read, to do? There’s no point. It's all so pointless. You, with your stupid food, and films, and books... you're pathetic. How stupid do you think I am? Are you trying to entertain me, Derek? I wish – I wish I was dead, you hear? The sweet release of death, that’s what I need. How about that, Derek, huh? How about you slice my throat and save us both out of this misery. Are you stupid, huh? Don’t you realize that?!”

Derek would barely keep his composure at such words from Stiles and not lash out. He wanted to strangle him and on one epic occasion, he even teared up, which was saying a lot. Derek has never shed a fucking tear in his life and definitely not from the lack of appropriate occasions.

He was trying his best, but he felt so impotent. Once, in the beginning, when he suggested Stiles to try surgery for his scar and physical therapy for his gimp hand, Stiles took a metal skillet off the stove, with stale oil and bits of burnt veggies still in it, and chucked it straight into Derek’s head.

“Fuck off, fuck the hell off and leave me alone, what the fuck is wrong with you!” Stiles raged.

Derek’s head hurt for three days after that.

~~~~~

The following day, Derek comes empty handed. He finds Stiles in the same baggy jeans and a filthy t-shirt with some unrecognizable logo on it.

Derek thinks he doesn’t even put linen on the couch when he sleeps. The place is a pigsty. But, strangely enough, Stiles doesn’t smell, although he probably hasn’t showered in days. Derek thinks it’s because he never does anything. He’s reduced his bodily functions to a bare minimum and he doesn’t sweat. He is pale, rake thin and miserable.

Stiles always seems pissed when Derek comes, but when Derek sits on the couch, Stiles curls down next to him and lays his head on Derek’s leg. Sometimes, he takes comfort in Derek’s presence, but he never admits it and doesn’t like when Derek touches him back.

So Derek doesn’t. He lets Stiles take from him what he needs.

“They sold the house“, Derek blurts, knowing there’s no beating around the bush around that particular information.

Stiles whines into his thigh. Derek’s fingers clench, dying to dive into Stiles’ long hair, to comfort and console him. But he knows better. So he keeps talking.

“Jordan says you can stay here as long as you want. He – he says he knows it’s a dump, but that’s all the department has right now. He – he says you can keep this place.” Derek feels Stiles’ tears seep through his jeans.

“Stiles,” Derek hesitates, “you know you can come –“

Stiles lifts his head, swollen and wet, and leaves the couch. Derek knows it was a long shot, but he had to try. Stiles obviously can’t live alone.

“Fuck off, Derek! Fuck you and your - your pity and – and your fucking generosity,” he wipes his face with the end of his shirt, tearing it a little. “I don’t want to live with you.”

He pushes his dead hand under his right armpit.

Derek’s pale face turns even paler. He feels helpless. He is alone in all this – mess. No one else has stayed in town after the last showdown, when Stiles got injured and his father died. The only pack member in a hundred mile radius is Isaac, and even he changed his phone number. There’s no pack, there’s no one. They all left and absolutely no one knew the state Stiles was in.

Derek changes the topic. “Have you eaten today?”, he asks, even though he can guess the answer. Stiles is practically a skeleton. He is all sharp, jutting bones, his body shape almost concave, without any muscle to hold his spine.

Wordlessly, he stands up and goes to the kitchen to make some sandwiches.

Trying to feed Stiles has long ago become a hazardous activity, but Derek’s nothing if not persistent. He quickly assembles something and places it on the coffee table.

Stiles looks at the food as if it sickens him.

Derek leaves without goodbye.

~~~~~

The next day he finds Stiles lying on the floor, surrounded by newspaper and magazine clips from last year. They crinkle and tear under him because he is moving, spread over them like a snow angel.

Derek feels a little sick when he sees Stiles’ protruding ribs and sunken belly. He sits on the couch.

“Will you suck me off?” Stiles blurts bitterly, trying to leer at Derek.

Derek feels his blood pressure rise. He feels his claws digging into the palms of his hands. 

“I reckon, if I’m going to die soon, I at least gotta do something in that department. I owe it to myself. I’d ask you to fuck me, but I doubt you could get it up for me.”

Derek flinches, clenching his fists and trying to calm his breathing. Stiles catches his expression, of course, and starts laughing hysterically, like he enjoys making Derek miserable. 

Derek ignores him and pretends like he didn’t hear anything. It’s not the first time Stiles has goaded him like that. So he gets back on track.

“I thought – we could go for a walk. Maybe get some flowers and go to the cemetery.” Derek stammers, feeling like shit.

He knows Stiles doesn’t mean the words he says.

He also knows that today is John’s death anniversary.

Stiles stops laughing and rolls away on his side, the papers crinkling under him. Derek sees the sandwiches from yesterday smashed into the floor.

“Derek,” Stiles’ hysteria devolves into sobs. “Derek, I know. I just – I don’t think I can… I can’t walk, I can’t leave this place. I stink. Please, don’t make me.”

It’s the same song and dance. Unless Derek showers Stiles, he never does it himself. Once Derek found him naked in the bathroom, but unable to turn the water on. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Derek gets up from the couch and kneels next to him. He cradles him into his arms, praying Stiles lets him because he sometimes doesn’t. He does today.

Derek takes him to the bathroom, Stiles’ head limply leaning against his chest, and puts him down on the toilet.

Stiles never undresses himself, like he can’t. Derek knows it must be harder with one hand, but it’s not impossible. But, he never pushes Stiles. Instead, he undresses him himself.

 

Before - before everything, Stiles and Derek were just starting to become something more, more than friends, at least. Secret glances, lingering touches, unspoken support and understanding, increased need for one another, the attraction, oh, the attraction… they were all there. Derek found Stiles insanely hot, and he knew Stiles was attracted to him. They were on the cusp of blossoming into something Derek was certain they both wanted and they both seemed to enjoy the delayed gratification. Derek even planned to talk to John about it, ask for his opinion, if not permission. But it was all taken away from them. They never even kissed, or said anything. They were stuck in an emotional limbo, floating there like two lost souls.

And now, for almost a year, Derek gets to see Stiles completely naked whenever he manages to persuade him to take a shower. Talk about context, Derek thinks bitterly. Modern science has no name for their relationship.

Stiles is completely pliant in his arms, half-aware of his surroundings. Derek undresses him deftly and turns on the rusty faucets waiting for the water to turn warm. He takes the biggest towel from the closet and places it on the bottom of the bathtub, and when it fills a little, he puts Stiles on it.

Stiles looks even weaker and thinner against the whiteness of the porcelain, completely unashamed of his nudity. Derek doesn’t even look at his dick, floating limply in the water. Stiles’ dick is the last thing on his mind. Instead, he takes a glass and starts washing Stiles’ hair. It’s almost shoulder length now, wavy and curling prettily around his face when it’s clean.

Stiles keeps his eyes closed.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers while Derek rinses him off. “Can you take me to the cemetery in your car and then, maybe, then – I could stay in the car and not get out, and I could see his grave from the window?”

Derek takes Stiles’ sick hand and starts washing between his beautiful fingers. They make no resistance. Kali has slashed over his wrist and damaged all vital tendons.

“I can, of course.” Derek bathes him like a child, and then takes a washcloth and cleans Stiles’ face. The scar is thin and dark pink, jagged and uneven, but it doesn’t distort his cheek, it doesn’t mar his features.

Derek puts the soap into Stiles’ right hand and watches as he blindly paws across his genitals and between his ass cheeks, in a weak attempt to clean himself.

Derek drains the water and quickly takes him out of the tub and dries him off before Stiles starts shivering. He dresses him in practiced moves and, to Stiles’ chagrin, blow-dries his hair. It’s too long to air-dry now. He carries him to the couch and starts looking for his sneakers.

~~~~~

When they go down, Stiles rips his arm off when Derek tries to hold it, but he lets Derek buckle him up. He looks angry still, even at the warm September sunshine which seems like it’s mocking him. The day should be bitter and cold to match his mood, obviously.

Derek starts the car and he first drives to the fast food place, bracing himself for Stiles’ reaction. But Stiles remains quiet. Derek gets him curly fries and a strawberry milkshake and sighs in relief when Stiles takes them.

Then he goes to the flower shop closest to the street. “Will you stay in the car?”

Stiles nods slowly, chewing. He has the curly fries bag stuck between his thighs and he picks through them with his good hand.

“Which flowers should I get?”

Derek almost doesn’t expect an answer, but Stiles looks through the window and murmurs: ”Roses. White.”

When Derek returns five minutes later, he finds Stiles sniffling into his food. He decides to ignore it, since Stiles breaks down so often during the day and Derek still hasn’t found a right way to make it stop. All his efforts seem to make it only worse.

He parks near the fence of the cemetery, but they can’t see John’s grave from there. He waits a little, hoping for Stiles to change his mind and get out of the car.

”I can barely stand the thought that he is lying there, in the cold ground, decomposing. I wanted a cremation, you know - ” Stiles shoulders shake with suppressed sobs. ”But Mom is there and they’re next to each other now. I just – can’t take it. Maybe I should have cremated them both.”

Stiles tenses like he’s remembered something, probably the way Derek’s family died. “I’m sorry.”

Derek doesn’t say anything. He has eleven graves not too far from there and Stiles knows it.

The trees are still green outside, shining in the sun. The air smells amazing.

”I wish I wasn’t such a goddamn coward to kill myself. I probably wouldn’t even die if I jumped through the window, only cripple myself even more.”

Stiles’ eyes are dry now and his voice calm and serious.

”You’re – you’re not a cripple,” Derek argues.

Stiles ignores him. ”But - but you could do it. Make it really painless. You could save me. If – if you’re my friend and, and…”

It’s been the third time this month that Derek listens to this. Stiles keeps begging Derek to kill him. And Derek – Derek can’t do it, of course, but he understands. Stiles’ suicidal thoughts are eating him alive. He doesn’t know how to fix it, what to say, what to do.

But last night he had an idea and he tries to present it to Stiles now.

He grabs Stiles’ hand and presses it against his face.

”I wanted to ask you something.” Stiles doesn’t even look at him. Derek continues. “We have a house – I – I have… There’s a house, in Monterey… ”

Bingo. Stiles doesn’t yell, he doesn’t cry, he doesn’t tell Derek to fuck off.

”You mean, like, leave? From here? For a while? Or forever?” Stiles seems mildly interested. It’s a gigantic progress. They’re still parked next to the cemetery.

”I haven’t been there – nobody’s been there for more than 10 years. Longer, maybe. But, we could go, just… see what it’s like.”

Stiles grabs the door handle and just squeezes it, fries all but forgotten in his lap.

”Derek… I told you, I – I have no money, and, and I’m nothing to you, I just… I’m just in your way, I, I – you have to let me go, man. Go on with your life.”

Derek almost loses it, the same old pressure in his chest that always comes up when Stiles gets like this tearing him from the inside. When Stiles pushes him away, Derek wants to die, too.

He used to be sorry for not telling Stiles about his feelings before the tragedy. But, he never did, and now the whole situation has turned into this Catch-22 kind of problem that Derek sees no way out of. Had he told him then, Stiles would think that the person Derek fell in love with was no longer there after the tragedy, ergo, their love was impossible. And since Derek hadn’t told him, Stiles feels that since he hadn’t loved him then when he was healthy and unbroken, Derek certainly couldn’t love him now when he is sick and damaged.

Now, Derek knows better than to be sorry about it. He knows how Stiles feels and what he thinks. He knows Stiles would never believe him now if he told him how he felt. Derek can see that Stiles, broken, depressed, suicidal Stiles, doesn’t even think about Derek anymore that way, even though Derek comes every day and takes care of him the best way he can. Ultimately, that Derek loves him. If he is honest, Derek doesn’t think about his romantic feelings, too, anymore – he’s too focused on helping Stiles recover. He still hasn’t lost hope it will happen. It’s just been very long. Romance is not the right word for them. It’s – it’s survival.

”I won’t let you go. I will never let you go, just - shut up about it already”, Derek bites out.

Stiles looks duly reprieved. ”I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Derek’s phone rings. He checks the screen and sees it’s Scott. Derek is pissed he still calls, even though Derek has stopped answering a while ago. It’s just that checking up on your best friend’s health from Japan every once in a while gets a bit pointless and annoying after a few times. Derek refuses the call once again.

”I’ll be back in a second. ” Derek grabs the bouquet of roses from the back seat and leaves the car. He isn’t comfortable leaving Stiles alone, but he has no other option. He literally sprints to the grave and gently puts the flowers down, apologetically brushing his hand over John’s name on the stone. He runs back to the car.

”Who was it?” Stiles asks him as soon as he enters. It takes Derek a second to remember.

”Ah. It was Scott.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything.

”Could we? Go, I mean. Is it on the beach, the house?”

Derek is shocked. He can’t believe he could ever make Stiles go. It was just a stupid idea, one of many that he expected Stiles to refuse, like Stiles moving to his place, or Derek to Stiles'.

”It’s close.” Derek grabs the soggy fries and tosses them in a nearby trashcan and puts the milkshake into Stiles’ hand. Stiles takes it.

”Yeah. So… What do you think, when would we go? In the spring?”

Derek starts the car. ”Now.”

”Now?!” Stiles yelps.

~~~~~

Derek just ignores Stiles' mumbling and revs the car engine. He gets a little giddy with excitement, especially since Stiles seems excited, too, even though he tries to hide it. They drive to Derek’s loft to gather some clothes and a few other belongings.

Derek takes some extra clothes and doesn’t even bother going back to Stiles’ place. There’s literally nothing there but an ancient TV and Stiles’ old laptop which he broke months ago. They can buy everything else in a store somewhere.

When he gets back to the car, he can tell Stiles was crying again. The emotional roller-coaster is killing them both. But, it is what it is.

”Derek,” Stiles sniffles. ”I love you, I really, really do, Derek, I’ve loved you for such a long time, I know you know it. I’m so sorry that I ruined everything for us, I’m sorry I can’t be… anything to you. What are we gonna do? I can’t do anything for you. What are we gonna do?” Stiles repeats.

Derek wants to hug him so much right now. He wants to tell him, to tell Stiles that he is everything to him. But words are not enough, actions don’t seem to be enough either.

Instead, he does this little gesture, something he always does in such moments and that Stiles allows. He takes Stiles’ hand and presses it against his cheek, and then his lips, kissing Stiles’ palm. He knows he can’t say the truth, whatever the truth is. He’s tried before, but Stiles won’t accept it. It only upsets him.

”Stiles… let’s go to the beach house. You’re stuck with me, like it or not. Don’t you see it?” Derek smiles a little. ”Call it what you will, I don’t care. I can be anything to you, anything that you want. A friend, a brother, a pet… a guardian… and you don’t have to be anything for me. Let’s just go. The two of us. No one will know. We’ll hide from the world together.”

Stiles laughs wetly. “Are you sure?” He can’t let Derek go.

Derek nods seriously.

”Hug me, you idiot”, Stiles asks.

Derek leans across the console and buries his nose in Stiles’ neck, still holding his gimp hand tightly against his body.

”You can call me however you want.”

”All right, Sugarwolf…” Stiles murmurs as he presses the wet milkshake cup against Derek’s back.

~~~~~

They arrive in Monterey later that evening. Derek has to check several times for directions alone because it’s been a while and Stiles is asleep in his seat. He finds the house almost by chance, since the surrounding area has changed significantly.

There are more houses, more roads, but the Hale house is still a little secluded, standing alone in the heavily vegetated part of the peninsula, some two hundred meters from the beach.

The path leading up to the house is overgrown so Derek has to leave the car there and carry the stuff, and Stiles, alone. It has been his intention, but without the lulling car movements, Stiles starts shuffling and eventually wakes up.

”Come on,” Derek urges him on, and makes Stiles carry a bag. They climb up the path in silence and when they reach the house, they both stop to look.

Stiles definitely did not expect a modern house, but it is modern, with huge windows and open porches on three sides. Stiles squirms a little, probably because he wanted to hole himself in some tiny wooden cottage with as few entrance ways as possible.

Derek drops everything down next to his feet to search for the key. While he fumbles for them, Stiles peeks through the glass.

It’s a two floor house. The ground floor is one open huge space, uncluttered and airy, and everything is covered with white sheets. Derek pulls them off vigorously, tossing them in one corner. They reveal solid furniture, big and comfortable; two large couches and two armchairs, and behind the seating area there’s a long wooden table with ten chairs. The kitchen space is also modern and sleek, with a big island and a breakfast bar.

”Dude.” Stiles looks around in wonder. ”I can’t believe you’ve been living in that shithole loft when you have this place.”

Derek shrugs. ”It was our vacation home. I didn’t want to vacation… since.” He drops the bags on the floor. “I’ll go turn the electricity and water on. You can – look around, I guess.”

Stiles climbs upstairs. There are four bedrooms and two bathrooms, two with several single beds and two with king size double beds. The rooms look sterile, like in a hotel.

Stiles gets down. Derek’s already putting the food away in the fridge, the electricity and water obviously working.

Stiles plops down on one of the couches and turns the TV on. After a while, Derek brings him a steaming mug of tea. Stiles offers him a shy smile. He burns his hand a little on the hot mug and he instinctively brings his left hand up, but when it just hangs impotently in the air, Stiles cries out.

”Hey, hey… it’s okay,” Derek takes the tea from him. On an impulse, without stopping to fret about Stiles’ reaction, Derek pulls him over into his lap and cradles him like a baby.

Immediately, Stiles buries his head into Derek’s chest and sobs. Derek holds his head, scratching him gently through his hair.

”Stiles, Stiles, don’t cry – I can’t stand it, baby”, Derek pleads, but he stops rocking Stiles when he realizes what he’s just said. He has literally shocked himself into stillness.

He’s never called Stiles like that before. He has never used a term of endearment for him. Insults, bad names, sarcasm – yes. But not love names.

But Stiles just keeps clutching onto Derek, flinging his arm around his neck. Derek sighs in relief.

Derek, still scared out of his mind, bends down a little and kisses his head. After a while, Stiles stops crying, calms down and falls asleep.

Derek puts him on the couch and just leaves him there. It’s big enough for him to sleep quite comfortably. He takes a quilt from the upstairs closet and tucks it around Stiles, and then he takes a shower and goes to sleep in his old room.

~~~~~

In the morning, he panics a little when he wakes up in the unfamiliar room. He rushes down the stairs, worried about Stiles. He isn’t on the couch, but the front door is wide open. He finds him a little down the path towards the beach, sitting under a tree.

The weather is gorgeous, sunny and balmy.

Derek catches his breath when he sees that Stiles is fine.

”It’s warm,” Stiles says without looking at Derek. ”I don’t have my swimming trunks.”

Derek laughs out loud. Oh, the ephemeral problems. ”Why? Do you want to go for a swim?”

He is ecstatic that Stiles is showing some vitality. People always say that the opposite of depression isn’t happiness, it’s vitality. And here’s Stiles, wanting to swim. It feels like victory to Derek.

”I haven’t swum in the ocean in years.”

”Come on,” Derek grabs him by the arm and pulls him towards the house. He jogs upstairs, leaving Stiles dazed and confused in the middle of the living room, and comes back a few seconds later, flinging at least four swimming shorts onto Stiles’ head.

“Pick one. But, first things first.”

He makes two big sandwiches and fills two glasses up to the brim with cold milk. “No swimming on an empty stomach.”

Stiles gathers the trunks in his hand. “Are these all yours?”

Derek blushes a little. “No.” He pushes the food towards Stiles who takes a seat on one of the stools. “They were Jonathan’s.”

“Hm.” Stiles doesn’t say anything. Derek’s younger brother, Stiles thinks. He remembers that Jonathan was eleven when he died. Stiles wonders how skinny he is if Derek thinks an eleven-year-old’s shorts would fit him.

Without protest, he sits down and starts eating. “I like them. I’ll take the black and green ones.”

Derek knows he should let Stiles dress himself, he knows that he has to encourage Stiles to fight for himself. But not right now. When Stiles stands still after the breakfast, Derek approaches and starts undressing him. There are several scars on Stiles’ chest and arms, but none as big as the one on his face. Derek pulls down his jeans and underwear at the same time and puts the swimming trunks on Stiles who leans a little on Derek’s shoulder, holding himself up with his right hand.

”Wait here,” Derek leaves him and runs upstairs. A minute later, he comes down ready for beach himself, wearing Speedo swimming panties, no less. When he sees him, Stiles blushes tomato red.

”I can’t stand the long trunks,” Derek shamelessly explains. “They restrict my movements.”

He brandishes a huge sunscreen lotion bottle at Stiles and starts lathering him up like a child. It calms Stiles down, the physicality of the touch.

”Turn around.” Derek’s hands are gentle, moving across the scars without hesitation. Stiles almost trembles with pleasure, aware how touch-starved he is.

He wishes he could touch Derek back in the same way. Now it can never happen. Even if Derek wanted it, and Stiles sees no reason for him to want it, he could only paw at him clumsily with one hand.

Derek grabs his left hand and squeezes it, pulling Stiles along with him. Stiles is puzzled why Derek treats his dead limb as if it were alive. He can’t grab Derek back, but Derek’s hold is firm enough and Stiles’ hand doesn’t slip.

~~~~~

The water is a bit cold, but, to Derek’s surprise, Stiles powers through it, gasping. He’s always been sensitive to cold.

His skin pebbles instantly and he shivers. But when the water reaches his waist, and his arms are immersed inside the ocean, Stiles remembers and freezes. “I – I don’t know if I’ll be able to swim… now.”

Derek looks at his hand, floating limply underwater like a dead fish. “Just… don’t move.”

He exits the ocean and looks around the beach. He picks up a flat wooden plate among a bunch of other debris lying in the sand and tears one of their towels into strips. He goes back to Stiles and takes his arm. He puts the plank under his hand and forearm. It almost reaches Stiles’ elbow, but not quite, and he fixates it with the towel strips.

Stiles follows the entire procedure without comment. When Derek finishes, he lifts his arm into the air like a weapon, and his hand stays in place.

“Look at that. Thanks.”

Derek can’t believe it. He hasn’t had so much cooperation from Stiles for an entire year. He has no idea what’s changed. He was fully prepared for Stiles to smack him in the head with the plank.

Instead, Stiles bends his knees a little, until the water reaches his chest, and makes a few tentative strokes. His lips spread into a cute smile. “Ah. This feels good, man.”

Derek is giddy with happiness. Just looking at Stiles do anything and having fun while doing it, feels like a massive achievement.

Derek starts swimming in circles around him, soaking up Stiles’ contentment. They grin at each other.

“Yeah, yeah, Show-wolf. Look at you, Mr. Phelps. Jerkface.” Stiles bitches, but he’s smiling. Derek splashes him a little.

“Just – don’t go far,” Stiles begs.

Derek smiles at him, his white, bunny teeth glistening from the sun reflecting against the surface of the ocean, droplets of water shining like pearls on his beard.

“Never.”

Stiles looks at him gratefully. They’re not alone on the beach, but it feels like they are. They have eyes only for each other. They’re both so focused on one another that it really feels like they’re alone, not only on the beach, but in the universe.

They are still in the shallow part.

“Let’s swim a little towards the deep,” Stiles suggests bravely.

Derek stays behind him and after only a few meters, Stiles panics.

“Derek,” he starts turning, his arms peddling a little frantically. Derek grabs him from behind and drags him back until they can feel the bottom under their feet again.

“Derek,” Stiles says again and turns into his arms and hugs him, their wet bodies sticking together. His wooden plate sticks Derek in the neck, but he doesn’t complain. He hugs him back, running his hand up and down Stiles’ body in comfort.

~~~~~

They get outside and sprawl across the one remaining towel next to each other, squinting at the sky. Their arms and legs are touching and Stiles keeps poking Derek with his toe just for giggles.

They doze off, but then a huge shadow hides the sun from them and a shrill voice startles them both up.

”Derek! Derek, is that you, hun? Oh, I can’t believe it, it’s been years. Oh, look at you, you’ve grown so much! I remember you when you were this big! Just wait until I tell everybody you’re here, George will have a conniption!” The woman keeps chattering inanely and Derek rubs his eyes and tries to adjust his sight. When his vision focuses, he sits up.

“Mrs. Havisham. Hello.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so glad to see you here. We were all so worried, you know, and terribly sad, yes. Such a tragedy. But look at you now! I must say, you look splendid, yes. We all wondered what would happen to the house. It’s a lovely place. Such a shame. But nobody ever came! We thought you sold it, we did. But my George said that Mrs. Goldberg talked to the local realtor and she told him it wasn’t sold…”

Derek wipes the sand off his hands and wonders what to say. Mrs. Havisham’s flowery robe billows around her big body and she clasps her ring-laden fingers, obviously not at a loss for words.

“You have to come by. Do come, Derek. We would love to have you! George would love to see you!”

To Derek’s utter horror, she peeks across Derek’s shoulder, looks at Stiles who is lying like a corpse there, and asks: “And who’s your young friend, dear?”

Derek feels Stiles’ body stiffen even more. During the entire conversation, Stiles hasn’t moved or tried to sit up. His eyes are closed.

“This is Stiles. He’s my boyfriend.” Derek blurts. Instantly, he feels waves of discomfort emanating from Stiles. When Stiles doesn’t react, Derek adds. “He’s asleep”, which is a complete and obvious lie.

Mrs. Havisham’s smile freezes. “Oh! How charming! How interesting! I had no idea! Very nice! Well, you are both invited! My George and I are very open-minded people, you’ll see. We don’t mind, honey, not at all. You can both come, together, as, as – like that.”

Derek grits his teeth. “Yes. Thank you. We’ll see. Thank you,” he repeats.

When she finally leaves, he lies back down, relieved beyond imagination. She’s given him a headache.

When the world falls silent again, Stiles blinks and turns towards him, half from wanting to hide, half from curiosity gnawing at him.

“Why did you say that?”

“What?”

“You know what.”

“I felt like it.”

“You felt like it?” Stiles bristles. “That’s not how things work, Derek. I – I know that much at least.”

Derek puts his arm under Stiles’ head, cradling his face towards his shoulder. “Tell me then, how things work, Stiles. Because any other reply felt like a lie to me.” Derek caresses Stiles’ cheek with the back of his fingers. “Do you mind?”

He gazes at Stiles’ face and feels his headache and his worries disappear.

Stiles buries his nose into Derek’s armpit. “I don’t mind, you… you have no idea how much I don’t mind,” he whispers. “But you should, Derek. I’m such a burden to you. I’m ruining your life. You deserve – you need better. You will want better, eventually, when you wake up from this crazy dream you have of taking care of me, this – this delusion that you care about me…”

Derek’s just about had it. This has to end right here, right now. He can’t take it anymore.

”Shut up, Stiles,” he murmurs and takes Stiles by the chin and lifts his face towards his. He stares at his lips for a moment. He’s been waiting over two years for this. It feels natural, and a little anticlimactic, when he kisses him. Stiles whimpers a little, but he pushes into Derek and kisses him back – Derek tenses for a moment thinking he might bite him.

But, no, Stiles is definitely kissing him back. His lips are just as sweet and soft as Derek imagined they would be. At first he feels the long-awaited happiness and fulfilled yearning, but then Stiles opens his mouth and pushes his tongue into Derek’s mouth and Derek nearly loses his mind; his ears start ringing and he feels blood rushing through his entire body warming it up and down to his very toes.

“Fucking Christ, Stiles,” he pants. He hugs him even tighter, cradling his body firmly to his own. “I fucking love you, I can’t live without you, you fucking – idiot.”

Stiles’ doe eyes shine, his long lashes clumped with tears and seawater, but he’s smiling.

“Derek,” he clutches onto him and swings his right hand to hug him, but he smashes Derek’s ear with the wooden plank and nearly chops half of it off.

“Ouch!” Derek mocks and starts laughing. “Come on, let me get that off. Let’s go back to the house. I’m tired.”

~~~~~~

They take a shower together, of course. Stiles stares at Derek’s body, seeing him completely naked for the first time, down to his rock hard cock. Derek refuses to be embarrassed about it.

He ogles openly at Stiles’ crotch, too, where he can see him plumping up a little. Derek lathers his hands and starts washing Stiles’ body.

“Have you – have you had sex? I mean, I know you have before, but, after, you know… “ Derek asks.

Stiles blushes. “No. I – I tried…”

Derek interrupts him. “You don’t have to tell me, and we definitely don’t have to do anything. It’s – it’s not that big of a deal for me. I just – want to know, medically speaking. Health-wise. If, if you can.”

Derek turns him around to soap up his back. It seems to help Stiles open up, not having to face Derek.

“I have gotten hard, once or twice…” he whispers. “But when I try to do something about it, to jerk off, I forget that my other hand doesn’t work, and, and, I try, but I can’t touch myself with it. I used to do it… before. Fondle my balls… touch myself – down there,” Stiles stutters. “And then I start thinking, about everything, and then – it just goes away. I’m – I think I’m broken, in that department.”

“You’re not broken, Stiles. Especially not in ‘that department’.”

But Derek thinks they’ve talked enough for now. He thinks telling Stiles he isn’t broken, at least not beyond repair, won’t change much.

He washes the salt water off himself quickly, and then he wraps Stiles up in a big, fluffy towel.

“Come on. Let’s have a nap. We’ll talk more later, but, not anymore now.”

Stiles just stands there, looking like a wet dog.

“What?” Derek asks.

“Won’t you carry me?”

Derek laughs. “Your feet work just fine, Stiles. Why would I carry you?”

Stiles pouts. “Because I like it. And you like it, too, so don’t lie to me. And – and because it makes me a little less sad,” Stiles blushes at the end of his rant, but he stares defiantly at Derek, challenging him to contradict him.

Derek looks at him, calculating, wondering if he should cave to Stiles’ irrational behavior.

“Okay. I’ll carry you, whenever you want, wherever you want, if you promise me one thing.” He can see Stiles getting a little apprehensive, but he continues.

“Promise me you’ll start doing physical therapy for your hand.”

Stiles did not expect that, Derek can tell. Stiles thought they were fooling around, not talking serious business.

His eyes fill with tears and rage. “It’s no fucking use!” he shouts. “It’s dead! It’s fucking – dead,” he tries swinging it up, but he gets caught in the towel. “I can chop it off, if that’ll make you happy! Is that what you want, Derek? If you can’t look at it, huh?”

Derek roars at him for the first time in a year. His eyes flash red. But Stiles, other than jumping up a little in surprise, doesn’t look scared.

Derek drops the alpha act instantly.

“It’s my condition – request,” he corrects himself softly. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you. I’m just asking you to let me.”

Stiles turns his head away from him and unconsciously touches his scar.

With a sigh, Derek scoops him up, ignoring Stiles’ meek protest, and carries him to his bedroom. He tucks him in, and lies behind him over the covers, hugging him.

After a minute or two, he hears Stiles, barely. “Aren’t you gonna be cold?”

“No. Sleep now.”

Derek’s all out of words right now.

Stiles senses Derek’s annoyance, and doesn’t move or say anything.

They both fall asleep surprisingly quickly.

~~~~~

Tomorrow, Derek takes him swimming again. This time, he’s made a better support for Stiles’ hand, with a blue plastic slate, and he also brandishes two squishy balls at Stiles, one smooth and one with soft spikes, like the little kids toys. Stiles has no idea when or where he got them. Derek makes him roll them on the ground and try to squish them.

Stiles hates it, but he still likes swimming. The plastic slate keeps his hand straight, and Stiles loves the feeling of water running between his fingers. He can feel the resistance.

His hand feels a little less dead when he swims. He stays in the water until his lips turn blue and Derek drags him out and plops him on the towel.

Derek sticks a bowl of grapes in front of him, plucked from the stems, and makes Stiles pick each grape up and eat it. He can’t do it. He tries, but he can’t. His fingers can’t clasp around a tiny grape. Stiles starts throwing them at Derek with his good hand. Derek is not amused, judging by the eyebrow situation. Stiles laughs at him.

It’s been a good day. Stiles is glad Mrs. Havisham doesn’t appear out of nowhere again. He feels like he would say something rude to her. Derek clearly has no intention of accepting her offer and Stiles is grateful. But Stiles catches himself thinking that Mrs. Havisham and her husband George think Derek and he are boyfriends and the idea intrigues him.

He wonders how it would feel if more people thought that. If maybe everybody would think that. Stiles thinks it would be nice.

~~~~~~

A few hours later, when Derek spurts a cold blob of sunscreen on Stiles and tells him to smear it himself, Stiles gets a little cranky because there’s sand on his tummy and it’s unpleasant and he just starts making a mess, out of spite. Derek’s the one who’ll clean him, it serves him right. He is so goddamn pushy.

It’s not that Stiles doesn’t want to get better.

That’s what hurts him the most, that Derek perceives him as a coward, as weak, as a quitter.

It’s just that Stiles knows he can’t get any better and he thinks Derek wants to fix him for all the wrong reasons. If he could just realize that this is Stiles now, that he is as good as he can get. He’ll never be happy again and never be healthy again. This is how it’s supposed to be.

Happiness is something he despises with all his heart now, something he doesn’t want to feel nor has the right to. Happiness is so vulgar to him. It would mean that Stiles is a horrible human being. No decent person can be happy, ever.

Stiles just lets Derek pamper him, because he has nothing better to do, and of course, because he loves him. It’s not that big a demand. It’s not like it feels bad. Stiles just – he wants Derek to understand that.

~~~~~~

A few weeks later, Stiles sees some progress himself. Derek is a quick learner, and he upgrades from tiny grapes to huge chunks of melon or apple, and some mutant strawberries he found god knows where. He always goes shopping while Stiles is asleep. And he makes him squeeze the balls now, not only roll them.

Stiles doesn’t mind it as much but he fucking hates it when Derek counts.

All in all, Stiles is excited when he manages to grab one of the balls and hold it for a couple of seconds, but his excitement is short-lived. It’s not like he can zip himself up with it, or tie his shoelaces.

He hates shoelaces the most, and when he, in a fit of fury, took all his sneakers with laces and threw them into the garbage, Derek got them back himself and washed them, but he then made Stiles haul logs of wood to the shed alone for two hours, in his slippers. Stiles cried the entire time, but he did it, cursing at Derek like a sailor.

Afterwards, Derek lit up the fireplace and made Stiles hot chocolate with marshmallows and rubbed his feet.

In the morning, he replaced all Stiles’ shoelaces with new, bright pink ones.

~~~~~

Derek hasn’t tried to kiss him again since that first day on the beach. But they do sleep together. It’s Stiles’ favorite part of the day. It’s the only time he feels content enough to empty his mind, when nothing threatens him or makes him feel anxious.

They hold each other and cuddle, and Stiles gets hard almost every time, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. He worries if Derek tries something, that his dick would go soft and Derek would be disappointed.

He wonders if it would feel good for Derek to fuck him and if he would get upset if Stiles doesn’t get hard. Stiles would like to try it. He wants that.

He’s just not sure how his body would behave.

One morning, Stiles wakes up before Derek. It’s a rare occurrence, and Stiles just lies there, watching him. He is so breathtakingly beautiful. Stiles thinks of all the actors and models and hot guys he knows that he has jerked off to in his younger days, and no one even comes close to Derek’s handsomeness.

Stiles can’t believe that he knows him and that such a man is sleeping next to him, that he is his friend and that Stiles gets to touch him and talk to him.

Derek’s beard has gotten really bushy and long, but it can’t hide his perfect features. It’s a lovely beard, Stiles thinks, manly and rugged. Derek looks so strong. Stiles puts his hand on it, unconsciously at first, but then he just leaves it there.

Derek’s eyes flutter open, but he doesn’t move. His eyes flare wide open and he grows even more still. Stiles has no idea why.

“You’re touching me,” Derek croaks.

Stiles frowns.

“With your left hand.”

Stiles didn’t even notice. He begins to take his hand back, but Derek’s reflexes are quicker, and he grabs Stiles’ hand and puts it back onto his beard. He starts moving his face against it, and the scratching feels good. Stiles sees his own fingers spread a little, and his knuckles contract. It’s – it’s good.

“Yes, baby,” Derek whispers. “Come on,” Derek says and flips himself over Stiles, spreading his legs with his body.

Stiles feels his dick poking him, getting harder and harder with every roll of his hips, and Stiles gets hard, too. He is so excited and turned on, and relaxed, too, because they have their pajama bottoms on, and if they’re not naked, then perhaps this won’t get awkward.

And it isn’t awkward, at all. Derek kisses him, deep and slow, and Stiles feels his balls get tight and taut. His hole flutters in anticipation of an orgasm, and this all feels just too damn good for him to worry about anything. Before he knows it, he is coming into his underwear, and crying at the same time. It’s been so long. He is fucking overwhelmed.

Derek kisses him then and Stiles expects him to finish himself off in the same manner, rubbing against Stiles’ body, but he doesn’t.

Derek gets up a little and takes his underwear off, and kneels next to Stiles. His dick is big and rock hard, flushed red, and Stiles can see it dripping with precome. His mouth literally waters at the sight, even though he’s spent. He can’t believe he can turn Derek on so much. He just doesn’t get it. It feels like a dream to him. He thought he’d never have sex in his life again.

“Lift your shirt,” Derek gasps, and Stiles lifts it instantly. He doesn’t even have the time to get uncomfortable about his torso before hot stripes of Derek’s come explode all over him.

“Holy shit,” Stiles says and starts giggling.

Derek just smiles and collapses next to him, burying his hand in his own come on Stiles stomach and just leaves it there.

“Are you all right?” Derek asks.

Stiles snorts. “I am spectacular, dude. Feel free to douse me in your come whenever, man. Plus, I just had my first orgasm in… a looong while. Yippee-ka-yay, motherfuckers!”, he pumps his hand in the air. “Maybe we should clean up now. I feel like a prop in a papier-mâché project. I’m getting sticky.”

But Derek decides that kissing is a better option.

Kissing is great, Stiles decides. He just loves Derek’s mouth and tongue, and the smell of their saliva mixed together when it dries. It makes him feel really, really good. So Stiles kisses him back with vigor, ignoring the tightening of come on his stomach.

~~~~~~

They just lie there for a while, until Stiles’ brain changes lanes again.

“Derek,” Stiles asks. “What are we gonna do?”

“Right now?”

“No, I mean, when this – when this is over. When we get back.”

“We don’t have to do anything. We don’t have to get back. But we can, if you want. Do you wish for anything?”

Stiles realizes that wishing for anything hasn’t been a part of his life anymore. But now, he wishes for something. He just doesn’t know what.

Then, he opens his mouth.

“Honestly, I still think that I, that we, don’t have a chance. I still want to disappear. I’m sorry if it hurts you to hear that. I – I don’t mean to hurt you,” Stiles starts sniveling, “I love you so, so much. I feel like all my love is only for you now and it will never be for anybody else. But, but, I’m just not myself, I’m this damaged person who has nothing in common with me from before… and – and I don’t even know when you started loving me, if it was before and now you’re trying to repair me, make me the same as before, which is impossible, or, or it was after – after, and then I just don’t understand why and if it’s right and possible for you to feel it,” Stiles gets breathy and almost falls into a panic attack.

Derek places a hand over Stiles’ heart and starts rocking him a little.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby. Here,” he says as he massages Stiles’ chest.

“Listen to me,” he whispers into Stiles’ ear when Stiles calms down. “I don’t know what to tell you, baby. I wish I knew the magic words, the words that would make you feel good and that you want to hear. But I’m afraid I don’t know them, I think they don’t exist. What I feel for you doesn’t have a time stamp; it doesn’t have reasons and conditions and definitions. It’s just there. In me. You are in me.”

Derek checks Stiles for reaction, but there isn’t any. So he goes on. “Whatever happened to you, to us, and whatever will happen in the future, is a part of our relationship and I don’t even think about it. I can call it love, it feels like the best word, but not if you and I define love in different ways. I don’t even feel the need to define it, but I won’t dismiss your need, which you obviously have. Why don’t you just let us be? At least try. And we go day by day. Together. I want you. I love you. I can’t imagine my life without you. Please, accept it.”

During Derek’s speech, Stiles just stares at the ceiling, unblinking. Derek almost reaches to check his pulse. He doesn’t know what else to say.

But, something seems to have finally clicked in Stiles’ brain.

“Okay. Okay. I’m not freaking out. I think you’ve just served me most people’s Holy Grail on a silver platter. I – thank you. I appreciate it. I’m not an idiot. And, you know, right back at you, with the wanting, and the loving.”

Derek snorts. “You romance me so hard, baby.”

Stiles ignores him. Derek fucking knows how much he loves him so he can just suck it up. So he continues.

”Just… I have an idea. I want to do something for you, every day, no matter how big or small. Make me feel useful. Whatever you want. Promise me that you’ll ask something from me every day, no matter how tiny or big, and I’ll do my best to do it for you. Please,” Stiles turns towards Derek. “I don’t mean like, to deserve you, or anything. It would just… mean a lot to me. Please.”

Derek puts his arm under his head, and smirks. “You got it, babe.”

“Okay. Okay.” Stiles seems satisfied. “Now, scrape off your come from my stomach now. I want to sleep.”

~~~~~

Tomorrow, when Stiles comes down, he hears Derek chopping wood outside, but what draws his attention is a little white board stuck on one of the pillars in the kitchen that he hasn’t seen before. There, in Derek’s freakishly neat writing, he sees this message:

_Task #1: Make me breakfast._

Stiles giggles and takes a pen hanging next to the board and draws a sketch of a dick under Derek’s message. But he goes into the kitchen anyway and opens the fridge, rubbing his chin in contemplation.

There isn’t much he can make, he thinks. He gets a packet of eggs out, some cheese and bacon. He takes a wooden board and a frying pan. He gets the knife from the drawer. And then he just stares at everything.

He can’t even get the cheese out of its sealed wrap. He picks the knife and starts jabbing the cheese with it. A bit of the cellophane tears open, and Stiles puts his sick hand over the package, just to hold it still with its weight. Then he starts pealing the wrapper off with his right hand.

“Huh. This might even work,” he mumbles for himself.

Once he gets the cheese and the bacon free, he chops them up in the same way, pressing them down and clumsily slicing them into irregular bits and pieces with the knife.

It takes a while, and the knife slips a few times, but he does it.

He turns the stove on and puts the pan on it. He throws both the cheese and bacon in at the same time, and as soon as he sees that the cheese starts melting and the bacon isn’t fried yet, he realizes his mistake.

But it doesn’t matter. He takes the eggs and cracks one by one on the edge of the pan, trying to copy some dude he saw on 24 kitchen who cracks the eggs open with one hand. But it doesn’t work that well for Stiles. Bits of eggshell fall into the pan, and Stiles tries to fish them out before they fry. He manages to get the bigger pieces out.

All in all, he’s a little proud of himself.

He takes a big plate from the cupboard, and tosses the eggs on it, but he can’t get everything out. He pours a large glass of orange juice and places it next to the plate.

Then he goes out to call Derek.

“Breakfast’s ready, hun!” he drawls with a sweet smile.

Derek wipes himself off with a filthy rag he keeps in the back pocket of his jeans like a lumberjack and snorts. “Oh, yeah? What did you make me? Did you put a box of cereal on the table and call it breakfast?”

“Fuck you, dickhead. See if I ever make you anything again,” Stiles snaps, but he isn’t really mad. He knows Derek would gladly accept the Cheerio box on the table as breakfast. Derek would accept anything from him.

Derek sees the food on the counter as soon as he enters, but he doesn’t say anything. He washes himself in the sink and sits on the stool.

“Won’t you eat with me?”, he asks Stiles, because there’s only one plate with food.

Stiles rolls his eyes at him and takes a piece of bread and starts dipping it into the remaining eggs in the pan.

When Derek brings the fork with his food to his mouth, Stiles says: “There’re eggshells in there.”

Derek looks him squarely in the eyes and shoves the food into his mouth. “It’s good. I like it,” he says, peeking into Stiles under his eyelashes and smiling sweetly.

Stiles feels like his heart is going to burst.

But then Derek ruins it, naturally. “From now on, you’ll be making breakfast every morning,” he says, petting his stomach and gulping down the juice.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles bristles. “Fat chance, asshole. I’m not your little housewife.“

He throws the dishtowel at Derek. “Make your own breakfast, fucker.”

Derek takes the towel off his head and jumps up, coming for Stiles. “You’re not,” he grabs him around the waist, grinning like a lunatic. “But you sure throw like one.”

Stiles hits him on the shoulder, squirming in his grip. “You take that back right now, Derek, or…”

But he doesn’t get to finish. Derek swipes him off his feet and puts him down on one of those humongous couches and falls over him.

“You’re filthy,” Stiles complains.

He doesn’t say anything else. Derek’s body is pressing him down, strong and powerful, and Stiles blisses out instantly. He spreads his legs, tightening them around Derek’s hips, and buckles up. He pants and squirms, and when Derek pushes his hard dick into his crotch, Stiles whines.

“Oh, god,” he pleads. “What are you doing, what about my eggs…”

But when Derek starts kissing him, he changes his tune. “Get naked, Derek, get me naked, please. I want to see you.”

Derek sits up and takes Stiles’ sweatpants and underwear off, and then he stops. He caresses the insides of Stiles’ bent thighs, coming close but not touching his pretty cock, which is lying strained and hard against Stiles’ abdomen.

Stiles is a little confused at the pause, but he has no idea what to do. So he just blurts, “What?”

“Have you done this before?” Derek asks him seriously.

“What?”

“Had someone blow you?”

“What – Derek – you know the extent of my sexual experience, man. I – no.“ Stiles is still panting, and looking at his own dick like he feels sorry for the neglect it’s being subjected to. He just wants to come. He doesn’t care how.

“Me neither.” Derek says, and Stiles gets double shocked by his words and when Derek bends forward and sucks the head of Stiles’ dick into his mouth.

“Oh,” Stiles goes cross-eyed. “Ah!” he shouts when Derek swallows him and buries his nose at his pubes.

But he manages to pant out. “Given or received one?”

He can’t believe he’s holding up a conversation in the middle of his first blow job ever, but he’s dying to know.

Derek’s too busy to reply. He abandons the delicious sucking for a while to lick around the head, repeatedly stimulating the most sensitive piece of skin just under it.

“Neither,” he replies finally and goes back to sucking Stiles’ brains out through his dick.

Stiles lifts his head because he wants to watch this. Derek’s face bobs between his legs and Stiles feels like he’s breaking some very important gay sex etiquette when he doesn’t warn Derek and comes explosively into his mouth.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

But Derek shows no discomfort at all, gulping down Stiles’ come like it’s fucking milk or something, and Stiles is a little overwhelmed.

“How come?” Stiles wants to know. "Have you ever been with a man before?”

“No,” Derek smiles a little. ”You know the extent of my sexual experience, man,” he throws Stiles’ words back at him.

Stiles giggles. “We’re so screwed, man,” but he scrambles up and kneels beside the couch.

”Sit here,” he tells Derek. When Derek obeys, he succeeds to unbutton and unzip his jeans with one hand. Derek helps him by lifting his ass and sliding the clothes down himself, and then he just spreads his legs.

His dick juts up from his pubic hair, which is pretty neat and trimmed short. Even his dick is gorgeous.

First thing Stiles does is bury his nose next to it and inhale. He adores the way Derek smells. Even when he is all sweaty and gross, he never smells bad. It’s incomparable to anything else.

Stiles starts licking its side, bringing his left hand up to hold it still so that it doesn’t escape him.

When he looks at Derek, the only thing he sees on his face is hunger. It boosts Stiles’ confidence and makes him forget all his qualms, so he decides to try sucking his dick for real. He closes his mouth around Derek’s head and it fills his mouth completely, stretching his lips as far as they can go.

It must be a really big dick, Stiles thinks. He gets a little dizzy when he feels Derek’s precome in his mouth and it tastes amazing. Stiles loves it. He focuses on the head because he can’t fit the rest in his mouth, but Derek seems to like it, judging by his grunts. He holds the base of it with his hand and just goes to town, his hair falling into his eyes and sticking to his cheeks. His jaw starts aching a little.

“Wait, baby,” Derek whispers and when Stiles lifts his head, Derek takes himself into his hand and pumps two, three times and comes all over his thighs and stomach and couch, his stomach muscles bunching up prettily.

Stiles rests his hands on Derek’s knees and when Derek leans his head back, he licks a little of his come from his skin. It doesn’t taste as good as precome.

“Dude. Full disclosure time. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stay hard, but it turns out that our problem lies more in the premature ejaculation department.”

Derek’s head bounces against the back of the couch when he laughs.

~~~~~

A week later finds Stiles staring grumpily at the message board. It says:

_Task #8: Assemble the transformer._

Stiles feels like Derek’s tasks are getting too demanding. There’s a brand new Lego box under the board, with a million tiny pieces that Derek expects him to fit together.

Yesterday, he made him make a tower with cards, and the day before that, Stiles had to cut out snowflakes and little hearts and angels from some Christmas decoration kit. In October.

To add insult to injury, he’s not even home right now so Stiles’ grumpiness goes unnoticed.

Stiles tosses the box on the coffee table and turns the TV on for some background noise. But he just can’t get started. He hates the fucking toy and he hates Derek for pushing him and making him promise things so that Stiles feels guilty when he doesn’t comply. It’s suffocating.

His hand is better, Stiles sees it. They've taken up jogging instead of swimming when it got colder and Stiles found great stress relief in it. They would run every morning until the point of exhaustion, Stiles’ hand well enough by now so that he could keep it straight while he runs.

He was focused for so long on his hand getting better, that now, after having lost any hope, instead of feeling happy for getting better, he doesn’t feel anything at all about it.

And what’s with the fucking toys already. He is pissed that Derek sees him like some behaviorally challenged child.

Stiles opens the box and tears up little plastic bags with the pieces and starts chucking them one by one into the fireplace which isn’t even lit. He mostly misses.

The floor around the fireplace is littered with legos when Derek enters. He sees the mess, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s carrying two packages in his hands.

“Hey,” he greets Stiles and bends to kiss him on the cheek, but Stiles turns his head away. Derek stills for a second and then he just puts the packages on the coffee table and sits on the couch.

“Where have you been?” Stiles asks darkly, continuing with his missile attack on the fireplace.

“I went to get something. How are you?”

Stiles stands up and runs his fingers through his hair, his face contorting in contempt.

“How I am? I’m fucking not well, Derek. And maybe, just maybe if you would get off my case once in a while, or be around when I fucking wake up, maybe you would know and wouldn’t have to ask, Derek, or maybe I wouldn’t even feel like shit to begin with.”

Derek’s eyes are pale and wide, looking at Stiles without judgment and it pisses Stiles off even more.

“What did you get? Another toy? Another stupid mindfuck to torture me out of my freaking mind? Here’s a piece of advice for you, buddy. Why don’t you just get me some Zoloft, or Prozac, the biggest box you can find, and stop with this fucking charade? I’ll be happy as a clam. And then we can all hail Derek Hale, the great fixer! You couldn’t save my father, but you now want to save me! Is that it, Derek? Am I your cure for guilty conscience?” Stiles is out of breath when he deflates.

Derek’s hands are clasped across his thighs and he isn’t looking at Stiles anymore. He gets up and goes upstairs, leaving Stiles alone in the middle of the entire mess.

Stiles freezes. He goes after Derek immediately and finds him curled on the bed.

He lies behind him and plasters himself onto his back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles starts kissing and sobbing into Derek’s nape. “Please, forgive me, please; I don’t know what’s gotten into me, Derek, please… don’t hate me, don’t leave me, please…”

Derek turns around and there’s no grudge on his face. He kisses Stiles.

Stiles kisses him back gratefully, squeezing him and pressing himself to Derek as close as he can. When they get their fill, they stay close and share their breaths, their noses touching.

“Happy birthday, Stiles,” Derek whispers.

Stiles closes his eyes. “Thanks. I love you.” His face is wet. Stiles brushes it against Derek’s beard.

“I love you, too,” Derek presses one more kiss onto his mouth. “Let’s get downstairs, I got you something.”

“Yeah“, Stiles readily agrees.

They scramble out of the bed together. When they get down, Derek doesn’t just put the packages into Stiles’ lap; he opens the first box, and there’s a cake inside. It has blue and white frosting with stars on it.

“Oh my god,“ Stiles smiles. “It’s so cute. Thanks!“

“You’re welcome,“ Derek says and puts away the card box. He puts the cake on the coffee table.

Then he takes the second package and claws it open. Inside, there’s a brand new laptop. He places it on Stiles’ lap.

“Happy birthday, “ he says again.

“Derek,“ Stiles is a little overwhelmed. “This is too much. It’s - it’s pretty.“ He presses his hand against its sleek surface.

“Pretty?“ Derek smiles. “Has it been that long that you’ve forgotten how to use it?“ he asks rhetorically. “I thought you might like it.“

“I do, I do, I love it.“ Stiles is thankful. He glances around the room. “Do we even have Wi-Fi here?“

“Yes. I’ll put the cake in the fridge and make lunch first. You clean up this mess and then we’ll eat.“

“Okay,“ Stiles says, mellow as a kitten. He immediately gets on the floor and starts picking up the Lego bits.

~~~~~

Derek sears two premium steaks on the skillet first and then bakes them a little in the oven. He fixes a huge bowl of salad and puts two beers on the table. Occasionally, he glances at Stiles across the room who has opened the laptop at one point but doesn’t seem to be doing anything on it.

Instead of calling him when the meal is ready, he goes over and peeks across his shoulder.

Stiles has a Google Chrome home page up and ‘jobs for people with one hand’ typed into the search box, but he hasn’t pressed ‘enter’ yet.

“Let’s eat“, Derek takes the computer from him and places it on the coffee table.

They devour the steaks since they both skipped breakfast that morning.

Stiles has bulked up a little, put some muscle mass back on. He is lithe and wiry and gorgeous.

Derek puts his fork down, and seemingly out of nowhere, opens his mouth and says: “You’re hot“, and he means it, too.

He loves absolutely everything about Stiles’ body; his long, wavy hair, dreamy eyes, his broad shoulders and especially his narrow waist and hips, his firm little ass and elegant legs. Derek loves to put his hands around his waist and hold him at the divot above his butt. He even finds his face scar hot. It makes him look badass.

Stiles clears his throat. He tries to play it cool, but he is flushed all down to his collarbones. “Is that part of my present? Are you trying to woo me, big guy?“

Derek puts down his cutlery and cleans himself with the napkin. “I don’t know. Is it working?“, he smirks at Stiles’ embarrassment. It’s not that Derek wants to be a dick about it; it just boggles his mind how Stiles is blissfully unaware of his attractiveness.

~~~~~

They cuddle up in front of the TV that night, watching documentaries about children with autism, of all things. Derek wants to change the channel because he sees that Stiles is upset, but he decides against it, especially when they start discussing different approaches to handling it, the aggressive one attempting to change the children, and non-aggressive, more accepting one, which looks outside the box of accepted patterns of functional behavior.

He knows that Stiles doesn’t have autism, of course, but he can relate with the different approaches situation.

Derek fears that Stiles will eventually need an expert, he knows it, really; but right now, Stiles doesn’t seem to want it. Derek spends a lot of time making delicate ethical choices, about how much to push and demand. He isn’t always sure what’s best for Stiles.

Often, he feels like a charlatan and incredibly guilty about it. But, he realizes, he’s the only person Stiles’ got now. Derek wants to change that.

Despite his concerns, he thinks Stiles is getting better. He doesn’t talk about suicide anymore; he is less sad, more active, and more cheerful in general. He eats more and his hand is definitely much better.

Derek doesn’t feel like they’re walking on edge anymore.

On top of it all, they’re handling their relationship at the same time, but, without a doubt, Derek thinks that things are going as normally as they can there. He feels the issues they’re having are not atypical or that out of the ordinary. Right now, Stiles’ health is of precedence.

But, it would be so easy to say that any relationship issues they might have would have to wait. It’s easy to say, but not do. No matter how much Derek tries to prioritize, their personal and relationship issues are inseparable, they’re ongoing, developing organically and simultaneously, and Derek just hopes everything will turn out all right.

He believes it will.

~~~~~

So, as it happens, a few days later, when Derek finds Stiles leaning against the pillar in the kitchen, wearing only his sweatpants and looking like a wet dream come true, he can’t resist the temptation; he approaches and presses against him with his entire body, aroused and turned on.

Stiles’ pupils dilate instantly and Derek gets dizzy with the smell of horniness coming off of him.

“What on earth are you doing here, Stiles?” Derek whispers into his mouth, chiding. It would be much easier for Derek if Stiles didn’t look like sex on legs.

Stiles is breathing in chopped little gasps of air, looking at Derek through his long eyelashes, eyes half-closed and alluring. “I was trying to scratch my left butt cheek. Wanna help?”

He is so ridiculous. Derek wants to devour him.

“Always”, he whispers and searches Stiles’ lips. They delve into each other, hungrily, desperately, and the sensation goes straight down to their cocks. Derek lifts him against the pillar and Stiles wraps his strong legs around his hips. They grind against each other. Stiles has never been this turned on in his life.

They go upstairs like that, Derek carrying him like he weighs nothing and Stiles clinging to Derek’s body like a monkey, and they collapse on the bed still intertwined.

“What are we gonna do?“ Stiles pants, pushing his hand under Derek’s shirt and groping at his chest.

Derek flings his shirt off and immediately starts undressing Stiles.

“Whatever you want,“ he whispers and reverently touches Stiles’ nipple. It pebbles and stiffens under his fingers, turning deep brown.

“I don’t care, I just want to come.“ Stiles pushes his cock against Derek’s thigh and grinds. He is already wet down there, in his underwear.

“You want us to fuck? You can fuck me, I can fuck you, whatever you want,“ Derek offers.

“Ah - oh,“ Stiles gasps, “Yes to the fucking, but I’m gonna come right now if we don’t stop.“

 

Derek stops. He undresses them completely and then sits next to Stiles who is still writhing against the sheets.

Derek caresses his body in comfort. “Look, I really mean it, whatever you want.“

Stiles calms down a little. “Have you ever fingered yourself?“

“No“, Derek admits.

“Well, I have, and I know I like it, a lot“, Stiles says. “So we can do that - I mean… if you want. You can do that - to me.“

Derek gets up and goes to the bathroom. He comes back with a huge bottle of lubricant, industrial size. Stiles snorts, but he doesn’t say anything. For all he knows, it’s not even Derek’s. He wonders if lube has an expiration date.

Derek moves like an animal, elegant and beautiful, and his body looks even better in movement.

Stiles is a little ashamed about the level of his obsession with Derek’s body.

Derek takes one of the pillows and puts it under Stiles’ butt.

Frankly, Stiles expected a little more hesitation and uncertainty in Derek’s moves, but there seem not to be any.

Stiles’ legs spread widely on their own, and then Derek just looks. Stiles is naturally smooth down there, his balls and ass are hair-free and milky white. Between his cheeks, his hole is pale pink and tight and Derek, on an impulse, bends down and starts kissing him there.

Stiles trembles and shakes, because no one has ever done that to him before.

Derek obviously decides he likes it, a lot, so he gets into a more comfortable position, spreads Stiles’ cheeks and starts licking him in earnest.

Stiles can feel his hole relaxing, twitching and spasming, and it feels fucking amazing.

“Derek, Derek, it feels so good”, Stiles whimpers a little.

Derek breathes heavily. “Christ, Stiles! You have no idea how great you look here, and how you taste. I want to eat you up. Look at you… So hot… I fucking love your ass”, Derek mumbles. Derek’s tongue penetrates him a little, but not enough.

“Put your fingers in me, please”, Stiles begs.

Derek blindly fumbles for the lube, but when he reaches it, he sits up, all determined and focused. He squirts a little onto his fingers, and then gently touches Stiles hole with them. He circles a few times and then he pushes his index finger inside just a little.

“Does it hurt?” He asks.

“No, no, Derek, it feels amazing, please”, Stiles thrashes on the pillow.

Derek pushes it all the way in.

“Fuck”, Stiles hears him say, and then he sees him pumping his own dick with his other hand. It’s the single hottest thing Stiles has ever seen.

It’s the sweetest torture. Derek doesn’t cave to Stiles’ pleas for a long time, until he can fit three fingers inside Stiles and pump them freely. His hole is dripping with lube, pooling under his ass, but Stiles doesn’t care. He is about to get fucked, by Derek, and he is in heaven.

Derek rubs his rim and that feels the best. Derek seems obsessed with his asshole.

Finally, finally, Derek pulls his fingers out and kneels between Stiles’ legs. He puts more lube on his dick and towers over Stiles. He presses his cock against Stiles’ hole, pushes a little and slides in.

Stiles pants. The head stretches him impossibly wide and it burns a little, but it doesn’t hurt.

Derek slides in some more, his whole body taut with restraint, but then he just slips inside on accident, pushing his whole length in, until his balls slap against Stiles’ ass; he just freezes, pulsing inside Stiles but not moving. “Sorry, sorry.“

Stiles grabs him immediately with all four limbs, and just clings to him in desperation. “It’s all right, it’s fine, come on, it feels amazing, just fuck me, Derek…”

And Derek does.

Stiles can’t even describe the feeling. The drag of Derek’s rock hard cock lights him up from the inside, putting him in a constant orgasmic state. He feels like he’s coming, but he isn’t.

Derek fucks into him steadily, and every push and pull makes Stiles spread his legs a little wider, come a little closer to Derek. He looks at Derek’s firm abdomen and his wide cock slamming between his thighs, and he feels like he could come from the sight alone. The sheer strength of his movements amazes him. Derek's rhythm changes from slow to fast and back, the depth of penetration from shallow to deep and back, and it drives Stiles insane.

He puts his arm down and touches Derek’s dick, feels it disappearing inside himself, spreading his hole wide open, and he just melts with pleasure.

When Derek pins his knees to the mattress and speeds up, moving Stiles up the bed with the force of his thrusts, Stiles starts shouting. “Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come!”

And he does. Untouched, he spills all over his torso and immediately disconnects, falling into post orgasmic bliss, his arms and legs all limp and pliable, but it’s not over yet.

Derek keeps screwing into him and it’s a new sensation, this pleasure without climatic urge, sheer hedonistic joy spreading inside of him. It feels good. He loves the feeling of Derek’s cock inside him, Stiles decides.

Soon enough, Derek’s eyes flash red and Stiles feels Derek’s dick getting impossibly harder, ramming into him like a bat, before he snarls and comes inside Stiles, pulsing and twitching like he’s being electrocuted.

Derek collapses onto him, burying his face into Stiles’ neck, but Stiles spread-eagles his legs and arms and starts giggling.

“Oh, man, oh, man. This. Was. Spectacular! Oh, the joys of sex! Feel free to fuck me whenever you want, dude. I hereby give you carte blanche for fucking me, wherever, whenever. Holy shitballs! Christ on a fucking cracker…”

He feels more than hears Derek’s body shaking with laughter as well.

“You’re such an idiot”, Derek murmurs into his neck. But then he lifts his head and looks at Stiles with blissed out expression on his face. “It was good. I loved it, Stiles. Thanks for the carte blanche, too.”

“You’re welcome.” Stiles smiles at him and scritches his hair. “What are we gonna do?”

Derek sighs. “I wish you stopped asking me that. We can do everything. We can do nothing. Just… it’s going to be all right, Stiles.”

“I know!” Stiles lights up. “Let’s kiss.”

They do. A lot.`

~~~~~

They spend the winter in Monterey. It’s not particularly cold, but Stiles makes Derek light the fire every evening, because he loves being warm and toasty.

They spend their days trying to decide where they’ll live and what they’ll do, never even questioning whether they’ll do it together. It goes without saying.

They have lengthy discussions about pros and cons of every place they can think of; its climate, demographic, job opportunities, up to the level of gay rights.

Suddenly, their lack of roots becomes not a source of sadness, but a source of freedom for them, and they embrace it fully.

When the spring comes, they decide it would be stupid to leave now. They should just enjoy another summer season here and then leave later.

Stiles starts asking around, using his new laptop a lot, and finds plenty of jobs that he’d like. He just can’t seem to decide, but he has time.

Derek mentions college once, but Stiles cuts him in the bud immediately.

Derek gets a job there, completely by chance, when some locals ask him, as a lifeguard and the beach guy in general for all intents and purposes.

Stiles walks almost every day to visit him, sitting on the beach and just chilling. He brings him lunch and shoots deadly glares at anybody who dares ogle at Derek’s hot body. Derek laughs at his possessiveness, and points out that they check Stiles out as much as him, particularly the two of them together.

They’re both toned and tanned and hot as hell as a couple, like they came out of a Calvin Klein commercial. But Stiles doesn’t care. He tries to make Derek wear a shirt, but it’s against regulations, apparently.

~~~~~

Before they know it, it’s October again. For this birthday, Derek gets him a dog, a Labrador puppy. Stiles cries and tells Derek it’s the best present he has ever gotten.

He names her Stella and argues with Derek when he tries to forbid Stella to sleep on their bed. Derek feels a little put out because he can just tell that Stiles is ready to point out numerous other places where Derek could sleep in the house if he minds Stella being there.

Stiles walks Stella and plays with her and when she gets sick once he carries her across the entire town in his hands to the vet.

Later, he tells Derek that he thinks his hand is not sick anymore and that perhaps he could take him to the doctor just to see.

~~~~~

One morning, while Derek’s in the shower, his phone on the counter rings. Stiles looks and sees Scott’s name across the screen. He picks it up and says: “Hello.”

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Again, my deepest fantasies put on paper. I write what I want to read.  
> Stiles' character is based a little on Dylan O'Brien after his injuries during the filming of Maze Runner: the Death Cure. Physically, he looks like his character in the American Assassin, Mitch Rapp.  
> Derek Hale is based on my vision of a perfect male specimen, both physically and psychologically.


End file.
